


The Weight

by dorkilysoulless (custodian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Memory Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants this.  He just doesn't want to remember it.  Castiel can make that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for [Hellatus Prompt Fic Tuesday](http://itfeltpurefic.tumblr.com/hellatus) on my Tumblr blog. Original link with prompt is [here](http://itfeltpurefic.tumblr.com/post/91147709434/dean-cas-except-dean-doesnt-want-to-remember-it).

Dean’s leg is hooked over Castiel’s, and he clings tight as he ruts against the hollow of Castiel’s hip. He’s lube-and-sweat-slick against the angel, panting, whispering “ _Cas, Cas, Cas,_ ” over and over. 

Castiel knows Dean’s close to climax by the shudder in his movement and the little breaks in his voice. He holds him in return, touches him gently, albeit in debatably innocent ways: fingers in his hair, or caress up his back, or a hundred other borderline things that push Dean further in his ecstasy. He is careful, though. There must be — what’s the phrase Dean taught him? — plausible deniability in these kinds of touches. 

That is important. If he is asked, he can describe what he does to prove that he has not defiled himself with this man. Acted strangely, certainly. Allowed this man to take extraordinary liberties, absolutely. But he can plea without untruth that this is not an act of _intercourse_. 

He takes unseemly pleasure in the way he is mastering the concept of loopholes.

Dean spends himself with a whimper on Castiel’s skin, the angel’s name on his lips. Some nights their eyes are fixed to one another’s in this moment. Other times, Dean almost can’t bear to look at him. Tonight, though, Dean’s face is in the crook of Castiel’s neck, and he kisses the skin there before moving to Castiel’s lips.

This Castiel is also technically permitted to do, though admittedly his justifications at this point are rather thin. Even so, he returns the kiss with gratitude, glad that this is one of the nights when Dean wants to kiss him. Castiel enjoys kissing Dean very much, even if it makes him want very badly to move beyond plausible deniability into unambiguous sin.

“Do you want me to, uh—” Dean gestures at Castiel’s erection.

Castiel shakes his head. Reluctantly, he summons up his grace. His eyes glow a little in the half-light of the hotel room, and his vessel’s arousal ebbs even if his own desire to be close to Dean does not. 

“Right,” Dean says, and wipes them both clean with a hotel towel before nestling in against him. There’s some something in Dean’s expression that might be disappointment or rejection, but it’s hard to say which one. 

The next question is inevitable, because Dean always asks it, but neither inevitability nor familiarity makes it any easier to hear. 

“You can, uh. You know. Erase memories, right?” 

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I can.” 

“So, uh, if I wanted to forget…”

“Tonight?”

Dean nods. “I’m just…it’s not you. I swear, you’re…I just…I don’t think I’m ready for this, Cas. Whatever this is that we’re moving toward, what we just did, I don’t know if I can do it yet. Not right now. Not with everything that’s going on, and—”

Castiel brushes his fingertips across Dean’s forehead and Dean goes silent and still, every last scrap of tension obliterated by the deepness of sleep. Castiel lifts the memories, delicate like a spider’s web, and scatters them.

He stays a while, and tries to content himself in the slow rise and fall of Dean’s breath, but it’s a difficult thing that leaves him feeling desolate. Castiel leaves the bed and dresses himself, then snaps his fingers to put the room (and Dean) in order. 

Jeans and boots by Dean’s duffel. Dean dressed for sleep. Everything in its right place. Everything as it should be.

Castiel vanishes in a rustle of wings, carrying the weight of a hundred forgotten nights.


End file.
